


A Wolf Among Bears

by Anduriel



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Animal Instincts, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Canon-Typical Violence, Disabled Character, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Healthy Relationships, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Not your typical ABO fic, Outdoor Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rough Sex, Speech Disorders, Unhealthy Relationships, Werewolf Sex, more tags as the story develops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25154032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anduriel/pseuds/Anduriel
Summary: Joining the Companions may have been the best decision he'd ever made, but something else still pulls at Logan's heart. A primal instinct that he's finally put a name to: Ulfric Stormcloak. There is no refusing the call, Logan can feel it in his blood, but will his kind heart survive what the Jarl of Windhelm has in store.
Relationships: Ulfric Stormcloak/Original Male Character(s), Vilkas (Elder Scrolls)/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 13





	A Wolf Among Bears

**Author's Note:**

> I'm alive! And here with some random Skyrim buff-dudes-being-soft porn. I've done something unprecedented this time, which is this thing called writing ahead? Groundbreaking, I know. I have about 2.5 chapters done, and plan to update weekly for as long as my muse will let me. 
> 
> As a note, Logan suffers from something similar to expressive aphasia, where he knows what he wants to say but has trouble saying it due to (for him) a childhood head injury. I do not have personal experience with this condition and I am not a doctor, so my representation may be flawed. 
> 
> Please let me know if I miss any tags or if you would like something specific tagged.

_The snow barely crunched under the soft soles of Logan’s boots as he moved through the woods. He took a slow, deep breath, settling his pulse with a lungful of ice and pine. The snowfall from the night before muffled the forest, made it feel close. Small. Made Logan feel like he might find the edge of the world around every snow-laden branch._

_Only in the deepest, darkest parts of the forest could this hunt be had._

_Even though it was morning, it was dark as night in these woods. Logan tightened his hold on his bow, smoothed his thumb over the worn leather grip, an arrow already knocked. He wanted to feel confident. Wanted to feel powerful. How he should feel._

_It won’t be enough. You’ll never be enough._

_Something dark and agile flashed at the corner of Logan’s eye. He froze, feeling a bead of sweat drip down his temple, his jaw, and into his fur lined coat. His nerves buzzed. Logan fingered the fletchings on the arrow, hearing the soft tick, tick, tick as the feathers brushed over his calloused fingers. He knew, whatever it was, it was not his quarry. It was just a distraction._

_He counted his heartbeats until he reached 100, and with no other sign of the shape, he continued forward._

_You’re no hunter. Why do you even try to pretend?_

_Logan’s ears pricked as he picked up the barest sound. Another breath, in almost exact time with his. So close. His hand twitched on the bow, thought about taking out his knife instead._

_Roll over and take what you’re given. It’s the only way for someone like you to survive._

_Logan side-stepped around a pine tree, and came face to face with the snarling, drooling maw of a grizzly._

_His breath stopped and his heart jumped into his throat. Logan stood there, staring up at the bear. The smell hit him then. Wet and ripe, copper and smoke. The smell of an army. Of a war._

_The bear’s growl rumbled through the earth, intelligent, furious eyes meeting Logan’s._

_“Lie down and take it.”_

*

“Logan. Logan!” 

Logan gasped to wakefulness, his eyes flashing open. His heart was hammering like a blacksmith, the vestiges of the dream playing at the edges of his mind. Not enough. Never enough. He was nothing. He was…

In his tent. In his tent just outside the walls of Whiterun. Logan stared up at the drooping roof, tracing the edges of the furs with his eyes. The smell of rain just barely permeated the rich leathery scent of tanned animal hide. It was early, still dark, but Logan could just catch the sounds of the Whiterun stablehands getting started on their morning chores. 

The soft patter of raindrops dousing the outside of the tent put Logan’s racing heart at ease, the smells and sounds achingly familiar. 

“Logan…” 

The voice was also familiar. Logan let out a slow breath as he felt Vilkas’s broad fingers wipe something from the sides of his face. Tears, Logan quickly realized. 

“You alright?” Vilkas’s smooth voice rumbled in the darkness. 

“Mmn. Dream. Memory. Something.” Logan turned his head toward the other man, meeting his glowing green eyes. The werewolf blood still flowed thick through Vilkas’s veins. Logan knew Vilkas could see him perfectly in the dark, even if he could only catch the vague outline of the other man’s bulky form. “Thought I’d be done with troubled sleep now,” Logan mumbled, rubbing some sleep crusties out of his eye. 

Vilkas made a thoughtful sound. “Guess you’re not completely rid of your demons, even if you’ve defeated the Wolf in you.”

“Suppose not,” Logan rumbled, turning on his side to fully face Vilkas. Unlike Vilkas, Logan’s own stint with lycanthropy had been exceptionally brief. Joining the Companions had been the best decision he’d ever made, and joining the Circle had certainly been thrilling, but Logan hadn’t taken to the beast blood. It had squirmed in his guts, roiled through his chest, throwing off his finely tuned instincts. Not to mention the sleep loss, which he already struggled with. Logan had jumped at the chance to unburden himself of the Wolf when they’d taken Wuuthrad back to Ysgramor’s tomb. 

“Can I help?” Vilkas gently asked.

Vilkas’s hand skated over Logan’s jaw, running gently over his trimmed, dark brown beard. Logan just shrugged one shoulder. There wasn’t much to help. Even if he’d wanted to talk about it, he knew he wouldn’t be able to find the words. 

Vilkas had always understood that about him, never pressed him about it. Understood that Logan's quiet was often because he couldn't speak, not just that he didn't want to. In the half a year they’d known each other, they’d grown incredibly close. Logan had never felt such a strong kinship with another person; had never really had the chance. Not only was Vilkas an exceptionally skilled orator, easily able to hold conversation, he knew how to listen as well. It was like he could tell exactly what Logan was trying to say, even without him needing to speak it. 

Maybe it was from years of translating his charmingly oafish twin brother. Either way, Vilkas was the reason Logan had stuck around for so long. 

Logan took a breath when Vilkas’s fingers trailed down his bare chest, sliding under the blanket of furs. “Maybe I can help in another way,” he suggested, voice lowering to barely over a whisper. A grin twitched onto Logan's face, barely needing to give a nod before Vilkas was rolling on top of him. 

After an awkward moment of adjustment in the confines of the tent, Logan let out a breathy moan when Vilkas’s talented mouth found his groin. Dream certainly hadn’t deterred his body’s natural cycles, as his morning wood was even harder than ever, twitching and leaking just from the feeling of Vilkas’s warm breath on him. In the soft darkness, Logan could feel every single movement. Vilkas’s silky tongue draped over the tip, lapping up his pre, then encompassed the head in his warm mouth, the slow suction making warmth churn in his chest. 

Logan’s mouth fell open as Vilkas took more and more of him, feeling like his entire body was being lapped up into that talented mouth. He groaned when Vilkas’s lips pressed against his groin, all of him sunk into Vilkas’s throat, the wet confines squeezing and massaging his length. A shiver ran through him as he heard and felt Vilkas’s throat contract, swallowing over him with thick gulps. 

Logan’s hips pushed up on their own only to meet Vilkas's battle-hardened hands, the man pinning him down with hardly any effort at all. Logan was not a delicate man by any stretch of the imagination, but in Vilkas’s beastly grip he was reminded of just how breakable his fully human body was now. 

Vilkas lapped at him like a dog with a bone, his tongue finding every inch of sensitive skin, thorough and indulgent. Always one to take his time, he sucked under the glands, gently dug at the slit. He ducked down to suck Logan’s sack into his mouth, rolling his tongue over his balls and humming with pleasure. After just a few minutes of the attention, Logan was near mad with lust, his ass itching to have something in it. 

At a soft whine from Logan, Vilkas lifted his lips from their ministrations. “Impatient this morning?” he chuckled, his voice taking on a rough edge with his own arousal. 

“Hmn,” Logan grunted an affirmative, looking down to meet Vilkas’s bright green eyes. 

“Want me to put it in?” 

“Mmn,” another wordless yes, and Vilkas eagerly complied. The man’s muscled body slid up his own, arms and abs tight with power and near trembling with desire. Logan let his legs part to accept his bulky frame, dragging his fingers up the man's back, feeling every curve and valley he knew so well. 

Vilkas moved one hand to guide himself to Logan’s waiting hole, the man’s breath coming out hard through his nose in anticipation. Logan leaned his head back on his bedroll and let his body relax, lacing his fingers easily behind Vilkas’s neck. When they’d both had the wolf blood, they never worried about preparation. Any damage done healed so quickly it didn’t matter. Now, well, Logan probably should keep some lube in the tent, but he couldn’t be bothered. He liked the pain that accompanied the stretch; that was just part of it all, balling up into one cohesive feeling of pleasure deep in his gut. 

Vilkas pushed the head in and Logan hissed at the initial sting. 

“Is that ok?” Vilkas breathed, voice thick with barely contained lust. Logan knew it was taking every ounce of his self control to not just plunge in and claim him. The idea made him shiver, but he’d never known how to ask for something like that.

He settled on nodding and muttering, “Transform... if y’want.” 

Vilkas bit his lip, green eyes flashing. “You’re sure?” 

Logan nodded again, lifting his head and crushing their lips together to drive home his desire. Vilkas growled into his mouth, the sound pure beast, and pushed his hips forward. His cock changed as he did, growing longer and thicker, curved with a knot at the base. He pressed in, sinking down into the clenching confines of Logan’s body. Logan wrapped his legs around the man’s hips when he felt Vilkas root himself completely, moaning into his mouth. Vilkas tore his lips away as fur sprouted from his shoulders and he pinned his length down into Logan. Logan let out a gruff moan, quickly stretching his neck to the side. 

Vilkas took the offering of flesh, diving down and biting onto Logan’s muscled neck. He sucked and scraped with his large incisors, drawing blood to the skin, not quite breaking it. Always so careful, even like this. Mouth clamped, Vilkas wrapped Logan in his arms and slowly started to thrust. 

Logan’s mouth fell open as he panted raggedly, heat blooming through his body. Vilkas rocked his hips into him, slow and deep, pushing himself fully inside before rocking back for the next thrust. Logan could feel every vein and curve squishing deep into his guts. He panted heavily, running his hands up and down Vilkas’s broad back, feeling sweat gathering under the patches of dark, coarse fur. The smell of sweat and wet dog quickly filled the tent, and Logan breathed it in. It smelled natural. Smelled good the way he liked it. Not good like the civilized folks up in Whiterun proper thought was good. Decked out in their flowers and perfumes. Logan would take the smell of sex and sweat any day over that choked, perfumed living. 

True to form, Vilkas didn’t rush. He took his time, giving Logan long, deep thrusts. They both relaxed into the lazy, early morning fuck, each deep thrust rubbing against Logan’s prostate, gradually coaxing his orgasm closer and closer. It was easy to come like this with Vilkas so deep inside him, when the whole world was just the tent and the man above him. 

Logan’s orgasm unfurled slowly, opening up low in his stomach, the release sending waves of warmth and tickling pleasure through his body. Seed slicked between their bodies and Vilkas groaned as Logan’s body tightened around him, breath huffing out of him, hot on Logan’s skin. The teeth on his neck and shoulder didn’t even hurt; it felt more like a rough massage, digging into his muscles and forcing the stress out. 

Vilkas was helpless to Logan’s orgasm, as always. He growled and gave a couple more thrusts, just barely rougher, and then buried the entirety of himself into the man’s ass. Logan flushed as Vilkas’s knot swelled, locking him in so he could deliver his seed as deep as he could. It flowed into Logan’s accepting body, warming him to his core. Vilkas let go of Logan’s shoulder so he could press their mouths back together, the kiss less lips and more tongue and teeth, slow and hot, tasting each other. 

Logan felt delirious, felt like he was floating. The fullness in his ass felt good and right. He could lay there forever, even though his cock had gone soft. It didn’t matter, he would always enjoy this part. 

By the time Vilkas’s knot finally went back down, Logan’s stomach was bloated like he’d just gotten back from a night of feasting and drinking. The werewolf gave him a final kiss before he rolled off, boneless, back onto his side of the bedroll. Logan grunted, sighing heavily and resting a hand on his sticky, pudged belly. 

“Mmn… hungry,” Vilkas murmured. 

“Full,” Logan joked back. They grinned at each other, both chuckling. Logan pointed to his travel bag. “Mead, cheese, in there.” 

Their morning meal retrieved, the two clinked their bottles together and took long sips, the honey wine going down easy. Vilkas sprawled out while Logan rested his free hand behind his head, the furs half thrown over his naked body. He’d clean up later. Needed to wash his clothes at the creek anyway. 

They fell into companionable quiet, both in their own thoughts as they drank. 

Whiterun had come alive during their pairing. Logan could just hear Arianne hammering at her forge on the other side of the wall. The quiet hum of people came to him too. Not voices, really, but more the buzz of activity. He’d gotten a little more used to it, but still didn’t like it much. He missed the quiet cold of the north. He missed the voice of the wind. Hence why he still went through the effort of pitching his tent outside the city most nights. 

A pang of something went through Logan’s heart. He recognized it for what it was. A calling. He’d been feeling it for a while, and only now knew from where it came. It wasn’t what he expected. Not the wilds, nor the hunt. No, it was a name that had been on everyone’s tongue lately. 

Ulfric.

Logan wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. Damn furs were too warm for this place. “War’s gettin closer,” he finally rumbled after working the words up into his mouth. 

Vilkas glanced at him, blinking away whatever he’d been thinking about, then nodded grimly. “Most of the Companions have decided to stay out of it. Not right for us to take a side in all this.” 

Logan took another sip of mead. “Seems we’d be on Ulfric’s side, if any.” 

“That murderer?” Vilkas scoffed. “He’s only a mind for his own aspirations. Power hungry. He doesn’t give a skeever’s ass about Skyrim or her people. Especially anyone who’s not a Nord.” 

Logan squinted up at the stitching along the walls of his tent, the mead turning sour in his mouth. He said nothing. He didn’t disagree with Vilkas. In fact, he was sure the man better understood the true nature of the war and Ulfric’s intentions than he did. And yet there was still a pull in Logan’s heart. He had a mind that if he were to just wander off, no destination in mind, he would end up at Ulfric’s doorstep. 

“I have to go there,” Logan finally said. 

“Where?” Vilkas asked, his brows rising toward his hairline. “Ulfric? Windhelm?” 

“Mn.”

“Have you not listened to a word I’ve said?” Vilkas asked softly, the devastation clear in his voice.

Logan took a breath, feeling like there was a hand clutching his heart. “Can’t explain it. I have to go. It’s… it’s feeling. Not thought. Like a compass pointing north.” He shook his head. “Tired of Whiterun. Feel cramped. And hot.” 

He waited, wondering if Vilkas would leave in anger. If this would mark the end of their companionship. But he didn’t. His hand drifted close and rested on Logan’s cheek, pulling him to look him in the eye. Logan met the gaze. Vilkas’s eyes didn’t glow so much now that it wasn’t so dark. 

“You know,” the man said thoughtfully, “even when you had the wolf blood in you, your eyes stayed that piercing blue. Never seen anything like it.” 

Logan stayed quiet, but he was surprised. All the inner circle of the Companions had matching eyes; he’d assumed his had looked the same. 

“I remember when I was a boy,” Vilkas continued, “I came upon a wolf in the wild. An ice wolf. Old, scarred thing. He stared me down, and it was everything I could do not to piss myself with fear.” He ran his thumb across Logan’s scarred cheekbone. “Staring at you sometimes reminds me of that old wolf.” 

Logan gently wrapped his fingers around Vilkas’s hand, pulling it away. “I have to go there,” he repeated quietly. 

Vilkas sighed, glancing down and finally nodded. “Yes, you do, don’t you.” 

“You’ll still be here?” The words pushed out of Logan’s mouth before he knew what he was saying. _Will you be here for me?_ he wanted to say. _Will we still have this when--if… when I come back?_

Vilkas looked back up at him, surprised, then heartfelt, then worried. “Yes, Logan, of course, but… know that I will defend Whiterun until my last breath. Whatever happens.” 

Logan knew the words were completely true, though he couldn’t imagine a situation where he’d be on the opposing side of that statement. Even if he went to Windhelm, went to the heart of the Stormcloaks, they were Companions. They always fought together.

**Author's Note:**

> If any ya'll have some Witcher m/m smut prompts, talk to me over at introvertedlionprince.tumblr.com
> 
> And thank you for reading!


End file.
